


Prayers to Ghosts

by inkcavity



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcavity/pseuds/inkcavity
Summary: “Perhaps, V, all I do now is pray to ghosts.”
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Kudos: 19





	Prayers to Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is just a quick little something I threw together quickly a few nights ago. It's a repost from my tumblr account, actually, but I wanted to share it here as well. Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about V, and I got an idea and ran with it. I have no idea what I'm doing. I need to write for my other fic, too, but I got excited. Again, ANYWAY...please enjoy!!

Your hands stay clasped together tightly over your chest, the thrumming of your anxious heart ringing cacophonously in the silence of the night. Trembling fingers brush against the material of your skirt, dying off the dampness beginning to gather in your palms, helplessly wringing the fabric between your hands to no avail. Turmotulous and wary whispers fill the stagnant air of the ruins you sat in. 

It isn't noticeable to you at first - you're far too preoccupied with your aimless prayers to pay attention - but the steady clacking of metal against the ground distracts you. It's not unfamiliar, in fact, you gladly welcome the interruption with open arms. Footsteps follow in the wake of the clacking of the cane, soft, mellow, and calming over the chaotic mess of your thoughts. Quizzically, V's brow arches in question.

"And what might you be doing alone amid the debris and demons?" Like velvet, his voice soothes you with its cadence, but only a little. Your anxiety is anchored in the shallows of your heart - distraught, you can't really do much about it - but you try your best to seem unnerved. But you can't outwit V, it'd be in vain to bother trying; the man studies you astutely, drinking in your image and every little motion you make. From inhale to exhale to the slight tremble of your hands, you try so desperately to hide; yes, V is concerned. Alas, he is an asshole. "For it would soothe your anxieties far more if you had just followed me inside..." he remarks. 

Unfortunately, you're just as stubborn as he. "This is the only chapel in Red Grave City," you counter, not arguing, but not giving him the satisfaction of chastising you. Your hands release their vice grip on your skirt as your eyes find interest in anything else but your companion, "I came here to pray. That's all." The chortle that follows after your confession leaves you glaring at the man beside you, ineffectively yelling at him to 'stop laughing!' and proclaiming 'it's not funny!'. Ah, of course, he'd laugh. How unfair. 

Once he gathers himself up, he manages a question. "Oh, little dove, but I thought you were-"

"Not religious? No, I'm not." A simple, unsaturated response. You have no reason to lie, but just like that, you have no reason to tell the full truth, either. Your soft-spoken soliloquies and hushed ramblings were just that - silent nothings that tumbled from the tip of your tongue in a moment of weakness, nothing more and nothing less. V's eyes never leave your figure, shining brightly. His brow is still arched, but he doesn't bother voicing his next question, preferring to use his actions instead of words. "I just...felt the need to do something." 

His head turns towards the caved-in front of the chapel. The altar is utterly destroyed, debris and rubble litter the aisles, several broken and splintered wooden seats lay haphazardly on the floor, splayed in various positions around you. It reeks of blood and rotting flesh. Why you come here to pray...he still doesn't understand. V gives you a clinical look, uncertain as to what you mean. "Pray tell, if you believe in no God or spirit, then why do you pray to ghosts? The dead do not listen to the living, nor do they concern themselves with the most insignificant of our words." 

So that's what he thought, huh? Chuckling bitterly, your brows furrow, and your lip curls wearily. "Perhaps, V, all I do is pray to ghosts." You wring your hands on your skirt once more, this time, holding V's stare. 

Hesitating, he finally cracks, "And why might that be?"

Softly, you send him a tired half-smile. "It's like you said: no God or spirit is listening to my pleas, maybe not even the dead themselves, but..." Your hand lifts towards his own. Usually, you two weren't quite as open to any sort of physical affection; restless thoughts festering in your mind leave you yearning for his touch. There's a telltale sign of fondness in his eyes as his hand entwines with yours, tender and safe. "...Maybe, just maybe, these ghosts could grant me at least one last wish." 

This grip tightens and relaxes on your hand, "Which is?" 

"That when this is all over, you'll still be here, beside me." The silence that follows after your confession has you holding in a breath; hands tremble again, your heart once again unsteady as you wait for V to say something. Anything. But it's the only sounds you can hear is raucous of your own heart and the building settling. At least, for now. 

V's voice follows again, serene and mirthful at your plight. "Well, little dove," he speaks as if you told him a joke, unfunny, but he still laughs anyway, "I don't plan on leaving you any time soon." Exhaling, you lean against his leg with a smile. Perhaps, then, the ghosts will listen to your prayers, just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Sorry It's really short, I'll try to get something out longer next time.


End file.
